


A comingling of radiances

by a_walking_shadow



Series: a mistake, forged into a triumph [2]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, The Golden Trio, and I will not listen if you try and tell me otherwise, found family tropes for the win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 00:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19937083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_walking_shadow/pseuds/a_walking_shadow
Summary: Harry's been in the Neath for a while, now. Ron and Hermione have found a way to join him. Getting back might be a challenge, but it's also entirely possible that as long as they're together, none of them care.





	A comingling of radiances

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! Apparently I do actually have inspiration to continue this series. That may just be because I'm procrastinating writing a lot of other stuff, but hey. 
> 
> The title for this one is from one of the correspondence sigils which was translated in the lead-up to the release of Sunless Skies. I really like these things, okay? The language is just so cool and they're pretty and liable to explode- well, I don't like the last bit, but you get the idea.

‘Harry, mate?’

‘Mmm?’

‘You’ve got a soul on your mantelpiece.’

‘Yeah, I do’, Harry says, glancing up from the pile of stuff he's been rummaging around in for the past few minutes. Ron isn’t entirely sure what he’s looking _for_ , exactly. All he’d really gotten when they met up (once they’d finished with the crying, and Hermione had stopped yelling at Harry for doing something as stupid as jumping through the veil, and he’d replied that hadn’t she just done the same thing, and Hermione had glared at him, and then they’d all started crying again, and a nearby constable had eyed them suspiciously until he got distracted by the man daring people to eat a live bat in public...) was that, as happy as Harry was to see them, he wasn't sure if any of them could get home again. ‘Come back to my lodgings’, he'd said, instead, like that was a normal thing for a teenager to say. 'I'll find something to trade so you guys can get some proper clothes and stuff.' Then he’d led them through a labyrinth-like set of streets, Sirius trotting beside them in dog form, until they emerged by the coastline of the weirdest, most terrifying ocean Ron had ever seen. Harry had taken them out onto a small ship, because apparently _he’s living on a ship rather than in a house like a normal person_ , and waved them at a couple chairs while he started digging through piles of… stuff.

‘Harry’, he says again, shifting slightly and feeling the boat rock under him. It hardly seems comfortable, and Hermione looks a bit green, but Harry just rolls with the movement, apparently completely at ease.

Despite his best efforts to ignore it, the jar on the mantlepiece continues to exist, very prominently. ‘Whose soul is it?’

‘Oh, Voldemort’s’, his friend replies, offhandedly.

‘What?’ Ron cries, and this is apparently enough to draw Hermione’s attention away from the view of not-London, because she adds, ‘don’t be ridiculous. Souls don’t just sit around quietly in jars, and even if they did, one as terrible as Voldemort’s certainly wouldn’t!’

‘Actually, the spirifer told me it was a brilliant one when he collected it.’

‘A brilliant…’

‘Yeah, apparently Voldemort has a brilliant soul. I don’t get it either.’

Ron can feel a headache coming on. Or, at least, he can feel the headache he’s had ever since he and Hermione decided to follow Harry through the veil getting _exponentially_ worse. ‘Where’d you get it, anyway?’

Harry shrugs, slightly, then flicks his hair up, revealing his forehead. The lightning-bolt scar which made him famous is nowhere to be seen. Ron’s pretty sure he can’t quite keep the horror from showing on his face, but Harry’s at least polite enough not to comment on it. Instead, he just brushes his hair away from his goggles, then gets back to searching through the enormous piles of scrap metal, ominously shrieking jars, scraps of silk, and who knows what else which take up at least half of his boat.

‘Your scar’, Hermione murmurs, faintly. ‘Oh, Harry. The visions you were having- they were really Voldemort?’

‘Looks like it’, he shrugs, frowning slightly at a horsehead-shaped piece of bone before chucking it aside and continuing his search. ‘I certainly had a bit of him in my scar, anyway. Hell got real interested in it, but I said no.’ He snorts, the movement turning into a shudder, and Sirius-as-Snuffles wraps himself around his leg reassuringly. ‘Didn’t sleep so well, after that, but I want to keep an eye on it. Better that I know he’s not up to anything, right?’

Ron glances over at Hermione, shaken, but she doesn’t look any better than he is. In fact, she looks worse, probably trying to force all of this to make sense at once. For once, Ron’s glad not to be the genius of the group. A place like this- chaotic and lawless and apparently at the whims of devils and masters and who knows what else- can’t be good for someone whose reaction to their sensible, structured magic was to memorise each textbook and borrow practically the whole library.

‘Aha!’ Harry cries triumphantly, emerging from the stack with a glittering crystal. No, not a crystal.

‘Is that a diamond?’

‘Yep! Magnificent, isn’t it! I got it- well, I got it somewhere. Forgotten Quarter, maybe?’ He frowns, then continues, ‘Should be worth a few echoes, enough to buy you two some clothes, at least.’ Again, he hesitates, casting his eyes around the mess, then scoops up a pile of tiny pieces of paper, all small enough that they could easily be tied around the leg of an owl. ‘Just in case it isn’t’, he explains, shoving them into his pockets. ‘Come on. We’ll sell the manacles, they should be worth something too.’

‘And no one’s going to question a couple people in prison rags trying to sell their manacles?’ Hermione asks, sceptically.

Sirius barks out a laugh. ‘You wouldn’t believe what you can get away with, here’, he grins, grabbing at a random assortment of objects for himself and leading the way towards the door. ‘Just act like you own the place. You’ll be fine!’

‘You’ll be fine, he says’, Ron mutters in disbelief. ‘Black’s carrying a knife. Hermione, Harry’s got one of those muggle weapon thingies. And they say we’re going to be fine?!’

‘It’s called a gun, Ron’, she tells him, distractedly. Her focus appears to be on the ceiling- which, fair, a city inside a giant cavern is pretty new to him, too. ‘Probably a hunting rifle.’

‘That’s not the point, ‘Mione! How dangerous is it, here? Neither of us have our wands!’

Much to Ron’s shock, the bazaar takes their manacles and leg irons without any qualms whatsoever, and Harry reappears without the diamond but with a small pile of Echoes. He divides it between them without any apparent qualms, points them in the general direction of some stores, and says he’s “heading to Penstock’s, I’ll join you soon”, whatever that means.

‘I can’t take this, mate’, Ron tells him, staring blankly at the small pile of coins in his hand. He’s got no idea what they’re actually worth, but he’s never been okay with taking charity. Harry just rolls his eyes, and disappears into the crowds.

‘Here’, Ron says, shoving everything except the few coins he earned from his manacles at Hermione. ‘Let’s go’.

He spends most of his clothes on a faded morning suit, because the well-worn feel of it reminds him of the Burrow- and oh, Merlin, what if he doesn’t get to go home again? What if Harry’s right, and they can’t go home again, even once Hermione snaps back into herself and works out what’s going on?

Secondhand suit, he forces himself to think. Just like dad. I’m a Weasley. I’m a Weasley and I’m going to do better than this, as soon as I can get myself a proper job, I’ll wear something that’d make Lucius Malfoy jealous. The suit leaves barely enough money to cover a pair of scuffed boots, even once he sells his old clothes and mask, too. But it’s enough. He’ll make it work.

Harry rounds the corner to find them, and laughs. Really, truly, laughs. Ron’s standing there, dressed in battered clothing, trying to hide his awkwardness. Hermione, too, is in cheap and threadbare clothes, but on her part it’s because she spent the rest of her money on books.  
With Harry standing opposite them, grinning, he can almost pretend everything’s normal. That the rifle slung over his friend’s shoulder is actually a broom, the goggles he’s wearing are for quidditch and not because an urchin stole his glasses right off his face when he was walking through Spite one day.

Then Harry presses a key into his hands, and another into Hermione’s, and he’s forced to confront the fact that they’re not at Hogwarts anymore.

‘Rooms above a bookshop’, he tells Hermione. ‘Please let the owner get a chance to sleep, once in a while.’ Then he turns to Ron. ‘Rooms above a gambling den’, he says. ‘I’m sorry, they’ll be a bit loud, but the only other thing I had enough for was in the marshes, and trust me, you don’t want to spend more time out there than you have to.’

For a moment, he considers trying to refuse, but Harry looks so nervous that he finds himself closing his fingers around it, and throwing his other arm around Harry’s shoulder. His friend is dressed in rough clothing too, he realises. He might have a nice weapon, and better shoes, and the goggles, but the clothes are just as threadbare as always. Ron makes a mental note to buy him something nicer, as soon as he’s gotten a job and earned himself some money. Merlin knows he’ll deserve it. ‘Thanks, mate’, he says. ‘Now, is there anywhere around here that serves dinner?’

There is, it turns out, for all that the meat is dubious and the vegetables consist of nothing but mushrooms. There’s wine, too, and he hesitates for a moment before drinking it, then immediately regrets it. Who the hell thought mushroom wine was a good idea?

‘Don’t swear by hell, around here’, Harry advises him, jerking his head towards a figure walking- well, perhaps gliding would be a better word- past the window. She’s far too elegant to be entirely human. ‘Especially not around Ladybones Road. Hell controls a lot, around here.’

‘What, really? Next you’ll tell me that when that guy outside said he was scared of the cheesemonger, he was actually talking about a spy, or something.’ Harry freezes, but doesn’t say anything, instead chewing determinedly on a bit of not-meat. Hermione is far too enraptured by the graffiti painted on the wall across the street to eat her mushroom something or other, or engage properly in their conversation.

He adds “cook a proper English meal” to his list of things to do, once he’s got the money and the resources to do it. Merlin knows his friends are definitely in need of it.

‘I’ll show you around’, Harry promises, once they’ve reached Hermione’s lodgings- apparently, they were the closest of the three. ‘Ron, you’ll love the Flit- it’s as close as you can get to flying, here, except maybe if you go to Zee. That’s what I’m planning, as soon as I save enough for a ship. Hermione’ll probably want to see the university, although it might be a while before -’

‘There’s a university?’ Hermione interrupts, eyes wide. ‘They have proper science, in this place? Oh, do you think they’d let me attend? Could you introduce me to anyone there, Harry?’

‘Tomorrow’, he says, firmly, fighting back a smile. ‘We’ll sort this all out tomorrow, all right?’

She looks like she wants to argue, but Harry just gives her a good-natured shove towards the stairs. ‘Good night, Hermione’, he tells her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

‘So’, Ron says, once she’s finally huffed a bit and dragged herself up towards her lodgings.

‘So.’

‘Your life is never easy, is it, mate?’

Harry smiles, slightly, his head turned- well, roofwards. There are stars up there, or not stars, maybe, but there are pinpricks of light, and they’re reflected in his goggles like stars might be, if they were actually outside.

He looks… relaxed. Calmer than Ron’s ever seen him before, really. Without the scar on his forehead and the trademark round glasses, Harry looks like a completely different person, and for all that he’s definitely different, Ron isn’t sure if it’s a bad thing.

‘Evening, sir, and, uh-’

A grubby-looking urchin on a street corner tips an equally-grubby hat at them, then pauses, his eyes on Ron, who glances towards Harry for guidance. His friend gives an absolutely wicked grin. There’s definitely a flash of Sirius in that smile, and maybe a hint of James Potter too, but most of it- most of it is Harry, just Harry, without the responsibilities the wizarding world placed on him.

‘Lord’, he smirks. ‘Lord Weasley, this is. And I should hope you treat him with respect.’

Before Ron can even work out what’s happening, the urchin’s attempted a curtsey in his direction. ‘Right you are, sir, my lord. I’ll pass the word ‘round.’ Then she’s gone, scrambling up a nearby building and sailing into the network of rackety-looking rooftops.

‘What’, Ron asks, then he punches his friend in the shoulder, because Harry’s clearly laughing too much to verbalise a response. ‘What are you trying to do, you berk? Make me into someone like Malfoy?’

‘Oh, please’, Harry wheezes. ‘Can you imagine how Malfoy’d react, if he heard people calling you lord?’

They have to duck out of the street to let an out-of-control constable on a bicycle-like contraption overtake them, which has the added benefit of giving them a doorframe to lean against as they collapse into hysterics.

‘I’ve missed you, mate’, Ron says, once he’s finally got his breath back. ‘And this- even if we do end up stuck here, and ‘Mione somehow can’t get us back- it’ll be worthwhile, you know that?’

‘You didn’t have to come’, Harry tells him. ‘I have Sirius, and- hold on. Where’s he gotten to?’

Ron frowns, looking around. ‘Last I saw, he was talking to that struggling artist just after dinner?’

‘Oh, no’, Harry groans. ‘Not again. You’d think he would’ve learned to stop trying to seduce the guy after the first time.’

‘The first- you know what, I’m not sure I want to know.’

‘No, you really don’t.’

They set off again, ambling down the streets towards wherever Ron’s new address is supposed to be. In the distance, a church bell tolls, startling a colony of bats and sending them wheeling skywards, dark shapes silhouetted against the hazy light of the bazaar.

‘I’m happy you’re here’, Harry tells him, quietly. ‘But this- you didn’t need to come for me. You’ve got a family, Ron. And I couldn’t ask you to give that up for me.’

‘You didn’t ask’, he replies. ‘And it’s not like I could leave you here, you idiot. You’re my family, too. Do you really think I could forgive myself, if I actually abandoned you?’

‘But your mother-’

‘Mum’ll be sad, sure, but you’re one of her kids now, too. How many times do we have to tell you that, Harry? She was already heartbroken that we’d lost you. And Dumbledore- he realised that the veil didn’t kill whoever went through it, so she knows we’re still alive, and together. That’s all that really matters, right? You’re not alone in this, mate. We’re doing this together.’

Harry looks like he wants to sink into the ground, or maybe hug him. Maybe both. Eventually, he croaks out a quiet ‘thanks’, so softly that the words are almost lost to the background thrumming of the city.

‘Of course.’ He hesitates, then adds, ‘although, if you’re going to make people call me lord, I might just have to make you regret it.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. If Malfoy’s not here, then someone else has to make your life hell for you, right? And as your adopted brother-like figure, I guess it’s definitely got to fall to me.’

‘Oh, don’t get all pompous on me, Ron. Don’t you _dare_ turn into Percy.’

He gapes, mock-offended. ‘Oh, I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Why would I settle for Percy when I could aim for Lucius Malfoy? I’ve definitely got the hair for it. Reckon I could find a peacock, somewhere around here?’

They pause for a moment, then both begin snickering, and soon find that they aren’t able to stop until they’re practically at the door to Ron’s new lodgings.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?’ he asks, once he can breathe properly again. He doesn’t really want to leave, not now, not so soon after finding Harry, but if he doesn’t get to bed soon then he’s going to fall asleep on his feet.

Harry nods, determinedly. ‘I promise’, he says, with the kind of intensity he only really used to show when he was going to face Voldemort. ‘There’s no way you’re getting rid of me now.’

‘Good’, Ron tells him, squeezing Harry’s shoulder gently before heading up the stairs. The gambling den is loud, just like Harry told him it would be, but it also smells of cheap candle-wax and wine and honey and smoke, and maybe- just maybe- of home.

He glances out the window, once, on his way to bed. His friend- brother- is halfway down the street, moving with an easy grace through the crowds, smiling slightly as he dances around drunken zailors and weaves his way through crowds of street-rats.

Ronald Weasley collapses into his bed with a smile and dreams of home, not just the family he left behind but the one he’s followed, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment if you've enjoyed it, I'm always happy to say hi and constructive criticism is more than welcome :)
> 
> I do have Plans for Hermione in the future, so with any luck there'll be a story focusing more on her soon!


End file.
